i think once upon a time is making me have feels

thank you — p.p.

summary → there has never been a moment where peter’s words haven’t failed him whilst basking in your presence, so why should they form coherent sentences now?

word count → 3.5k

author’s note → did you guys forget that i write because honestly me 2

  Be it totally and completely out of the blue, you awaken one bright, blazing Tuesday morning in early November, brisk chill whipping through the air, and decide that later that night, when you see him somewhere that isn’t so public and academic like, you’re going to kiss Peter Benjamin Parker.  

  You’re not quite sure what brings it on, perhaps you should just leave it to the raging teenage hormones that the doctors and psychologists and guidance counselors blame everything on, but another part of you understands that this longing, yearning, to let yourself fall in love with your best friend is something far from foreign or new. This loving feels familiar to you, like coming back home after vacations far away and far too long, and it’s warmth in the way that burrowing under your blankets when the chill settles into your bones is. Boys like Peter demand to be adored, and they demand to be kissed as if never before. You’d be damned if you let such prime opportunities escape your grasp, or rather, your lips. 

  The hours in school glide by, which was, admittedly, utterly surprising. Typically, when you’re anticipating something later in the day, any hours before the event that is to transpire drag on as if you’re not impatient, as if you can wait all day without a complaint. But suddenly it’s last period, then two-thirty rolls around and you’re bounding over to your locker where your best friend awaits you, rocking slightly on the heels of his feet the way he has a tendency to do when he’s overexcited. This motion is arguably the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. Then again, anything Peter does, the simplest actions that bear no real relevancy, is something that you mark down in your head as the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. 

   Peter glances around the halls, unable to see you through the mounds of students rushing hurriedly past him in order to relieve themselves of academia for the day as soon as possible. He pulls down the cuff of his sweater over his hands, then rethinks this and pushes them back up to his elbows. Blue looks nice on him. There are just these little things you tend to notice about him, silly things that only a person in love would pick up, and these tiny details, like the way the light catches in his eyes and the smiles he saves for certain people, make your heart bright and happy and whisper lovingly to him in a voice he can’t hear. The crowd disperses considerably enough, and you manage to fight your way through the remaining throng of people loitering in the hallway for no real reason- beyond frustrating, you think, but then Peter catches your eye and his already happy demeanor increases tenfold. With a beam that practically stretches out and reaches into your heart, seizing it carefully and determinedly, Peter ambles toward you, trying to appear more relaxed than he felt, and pushes himself into your personal space, as usual, by wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. 

    “You’re in a good mood,” you note, because at this point in your relationship there’s no need for formal greetings, as he parades you out of the building after letting go of you long enough to allow you to gear up for the cold sweeping through the borough outside the walls of Midtown. He casts a glance your way, sideways but still joyous, then shrugs, nonchalant. “You’re just so happy to see me, aren’t you, Pete?” 

   You’re half joking and not expecting much until Peter gives you a little look, head tilted to the side and his eyebrows furrowed slightly like he can’t believe the question is something you don’t know the answer to. He gives your shoulder a squeeze. “You should know the answer to that by now!” He exclaims, mock disappointment in the head shake he gives you. “The answer is yes. We see each other for, like, two seconds at a lunch all day and that’s it. I’m deprived. I miss you.” 

  “We’re together right now,” you laugh, nudging into his side. 

   “Not enough. I see Ned twenty-four-seven, I need both of my best friends with me all day every day if I’m gonna survive the next two and a half years of high school.” Your heart sort of twitches again, your palms feel warm. He has that influence over you. Love is such a strange thing sometimes, impossible to decipher or make sense of, and then other times it feels like the simplest emotion in the world, easy and steady and everything. You’ll never know what to make of it. “I just miss you, okay? Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he jokes, rubbing your shoulder for a second before letting his hand dangle across the edge of your shoulder. You reach up to intertwine your fingers with his, the way you have millions of times before in the same seemingly intimate way, pretending as if you don’t know the sweet grin that the gesture elicits from him, staring adoringly at the profile of your face like he couldn’t possibly get enough of the view. 

   “Aw,” you coo, pinching his cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding his. Peter flinches away, his eyes squeezing shut and his cheeks pink. “I missed you, too, Pete. So, where are we off to today? Can we go traipse around SoHo? We haven’t been in ages and oh! Look, I see the A train, it’s on every corner, let’s go.” Before he realizes it, he’s being dragged down toward the steps of the subway, his complaints about constantly getting lost there falling upon deaf ears. 

   Much more than a mere few hours later, Peter is shaking his head as you laugh hysterically down the block leading to your apartment building. He has a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you talk, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Peter, we didn’t get lost that bad this time. Seriously, we made it to Union Square, which was right by the R train, then we took it to the mall and hopped on the M which we took to the F, ridiculously simple!” You exclaim, taking a sip from your bottle of water. “You’re acting as if we, like, walked around in a  circle for an hour.” 

   “Because that’s exactly what we did!” He replies, playfully punching you in the arm, but with a carefully light touch. Peter is, and has always been ever since it became a pressing issue, terribly aware of his enhanced strength and senses. He’s so nervous about accidentally hurting you when his intentions were to be playful that he does everything with extra caution now, barely letting himself touch you most of the time or even give a gentle squeeze of your hand. “We did walk in a a circle for an hour! And your phone died while you were trying to use Google Maps, it was pouring rain, you got so cold I had to give you my jacket which made me cold-”

  You interrupt him, “No one said you had to give me your jacket!” 

  He continues on his rant, pretending as if you haven’t spoken even though the smirk twitching at the corners of his lips beg to differ- “we couldn’t figure out where we were which is stupid since we’re supposed to be New Yorkers, then finally I said to just keep walking straight, which we did until we found Union Square due to pure dumb luck.” Peter watches you throw your head back and laugh, high in sound and utterly happy, and he shoves his hands deep in his pockets, a stupidly thrilled grin on his face, too. He hated that he couldn’t stop grinning; it was ridiculous and it hurt his cheeks and made his eyes squint so hard they ached once he was finally able to let his mouth rest. Oh, how his heart couldn’t stop hammering! He was so nervous he could hardly think straight. Peter Parker was drowning, suffocating, choking on these emotions that had been so far buried deep, deep within the recesses of his heart that he hardly knew what to do with them now that they were drifting to the surface like leaves on a pond. 

     You can feel his eyes on you, the soft and sweet, carefully watching gaze of Peter, and so you take the moment for your own. You’re standing in front of the door to the apartment building when you whip around toward him, and he goes in for the hug like he knows what you’re planning to do. Instead, you lean up, take his face in your hands and you note how cold his cheeks are as you avoid his surprised gaze. Then, you’re kissing him. You are kissing Peter Parker in the way you’ve never kissed anyone before; it’s hesitant, over too fast like it never even happened, but you kissed him and he knows you’ve just kissed him, but the thoughts flipping through his brain and the way his stomach is clenching doesn’t allow him to form coherent sentences that you can hear and comprehend. 

   Instead of kissing you again, instead of lifting you up in his arms and spinning you around the street and singing like a madman because the person of his dreams seems to want him right back, he stutters for five seconds. The only words that he can manage to say are, “Thank you,” before he turns back around and quite literally sprints down the block to his own apartment. 

   When he gets home he collapses on his bed, grunting a hello to May before he shoves his pillow over his face and screams into it, unabashed screaming that he drags out for two minutes. He pulls back, red cheeked and panting. He immediately rolls over to call Ned, begging him to come over immediately and no, Ned, he doesn’t care about the comic you’re in the middle of reading because this is an emergency damn it! 


   “You said thank you?” Ned says incredulously, thirty minutes later and trying not to burst into hysterics after what his best friend had just relayed to him. He can’t help himself, and as Peter hugs his pillow to his chest with a look similar to that of someone who is experiencing severe indigestion, Ned wheezes out a laugh held in for so long that it just goes on forever. Peter buries his face in the plush, comforting fabric, emitting a groan that continues for as long as Ned cackles. “Dude, you’re a mess. I can’t believe you said thank you. Who says thank you after being kissed? For the first time? By someone you’ve been dying to kiss for the past, like, three years?” Ned is practically crying by the time Peter  launches his pillow at his so called best friend, resting his fists against his cheeks and letting a pout befall his lips. 

   “Ned,” Peter whines, brown eyes pleading. “I need help. I said thank you! I hate myself, I shouldn’t be allowed to be kissed ever again. I’m… I’m so stupid. I said thank you! To Y/N! Y/N! Of all people! Thank you! Thank you.” He repeats the phrase with a sad, small shake of his head and lies back down on his bed. Ned stretches out across the top bunk, Peter can hear the old bed creak, and they both let out a sigh. “What should I do, man? Do you think Y/N hates me?” 

   Ned is quiet for a moment. “Right now? Y/N definitely hates you right now. I’m not even saying that to be mean, I’m saying that as your best friend. You said thank you.”  

  “I know,” he says, miserable and pathetic and contemplating what sort of injuries he might hypothetically sustain if he attempted a backflip off the edge of the Empire State Building. 


   “He said thank you?” Michelle Jones doesn’t even bother to wait, to even offer a dash of fake but well meant sympathy, before she erupts into hysterics, laughing so terribly hard that she nearly rolls off your twin bed. You stare at her, stone faced, unamused, as she continues her awful wheezing laughter that she has no intention of halting any time soon. “Oh my god, oh my god, I have to-” MJ abruptly stands up, stifling her laughter behind her hand as she leaves your bedroom, then closes the door behind her and starts laughing again. It’s loud, practically deafening, mostly because the laughter feels so mocking and smothering in lieu of recent events that had occurred less than an hour ago. You sigh, hugging your pillow even tighter to your chest as you wait for your so called best friend to return from her stint in the hallway. 

   “Oh, are you done now? Thanks,” you snap, shifting over on the bed to make room for her to clamor back on. “I can’t believe you. I’m having a crisis and you leave to go laugh at me in the hallway. What sort of friend are you, MJ?” 

   She shrugs, the ghost of a hilariously mocking grin still playing at her mouth. “The friend who tells it like it is.” 

   You huff, lying down on the bed and staring up at the glow in the dark stars you had stuck up there when you were fourteen, the July before you started high school. You put them up with Peter, and it was late and hot and your palms were sticky with sweat that sometimes wonder was due to the heat of the summer or the boy sitting next to you in your room, on your tiny bed, rambling on about the rings that Jupiter had, because yes Jupiter has rings, and the reasons as to why stars emit light. Peter was always there, never wavering in his loyalties, your most beloved friend, the boy who promised over and over again that he’d be there for you no matter what. He was Peter, and you loved Peter, and if Peter didn’t love you back that would be just fine- you just wanted to know sooner rather than later. “What should I do? Is he, like, repulsed by me? Why would you let me kiss him, Michelle?” 

   “Uh, excuse me, I didn’t even know you were planning on planting a big one on Peter Parker, so any blame cast on me is henceforth cancelled. Got that? Good,” Michelle brushes her hair out of her eyes, that intense look appearing on her already intense face. “First of all, that loser is physically incapable of being repulsed by you. I’m just telling you that right now before you go off on a stupid tangent about whether or not he hates you. That’s final. Next, he’s never been kissed before! He was definitely overwhelmed, probably freaking out inside, didn’t know what to do, and that was the first thing that popped into his head and he ran with it and then he ran away. Understandable. Finally, boys are just stupid. All of them. They’re all complete morons, and-” 

   “Okay, Michelle, the idiotic tendencies of people who identify as a male is a riveting debate that we enjoy quite frequently, but tonight I think I’m done talking boys. I’m going to just… let things happen as they should? If Peter likes me, he’ll tell me, and that’ll be that. I just won’t bring up the kiss. I’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.” With a satisfied nod, MJ pats your head, then, for a split second, snorts under her breath again. 

  She holds her hands up defensively, exclaiming, “He still said thank you! He’s never living this shit down!”


    The next day at school, Peter is prepared and ready for the conversation he anticipates is going to happen. He is ready to be understanding if you yell at him for being a complete and utter ass after you kissed him, he’s ready to spill his bottled up feelings all over the linoleum floor if that’s what it takes for you to believe that the kiss was the best thing he’s ever experienced, ever would experience, and he’s ready for the beginning of everything he’s ever dreamt of, but none of that comes. At least, not immediately, not in the way he expected. 

   The boy has always thought himself a patient person, but in the months that have passed he’s realized that under no circumstances is he okay with waiting. He’s impatient and annoyed at everyone and everything that comes his way that isn’t you, and then he’s annoyed at you for not appearing to him and acknowledging that you kissed him on the front steps of your apartment building with a fervor that could only be identified as the crashing, burning, raging, bursting power of pent up emotion. He knows he has hardly any classes with you, so there’s no conceivable way you could have an in depth discussion of your relationship status as of this very moment, but still. He’d appreciate a gesture of some kind. And then, after this thought pops into his head, he wonders if he should be the one to make the gesture. 

   Prompt with following his instincts, he sets off to find you before you can avoid him at lunch like he knows you will. He stands by your locker, leaning against the cool metal frame, waiting for you to make an appearance. He sees you first, and by now this is simply rote for him. You don’t have time to even attempt to duck out of his way; Peter is determined, stubborn, and he won’t lose out on his chance by allowing you to go on ignoring him. Even if you don’t want a relationship, a decision he’ll respect wholeheartedly, he flat out refuses to even entertain the idea of no longer having you as his best friend, as his other kind of love. He takes your hand, silent begging scrawled across the weakened, anxious smile he gives you. He leads you toward the front of the school, around a bend of empty lockers, and takes a step back. 

   Neither of you really look at each other until he says, unexpectedly, “You kissed me!” It’s almost accusatory, the way he says it, and, affronted, you look back up at him in alarm.  

   “And you said thank you!” You retort, eyes narrowed. “Who says that!” The entire reason you’ve been avoiding him was to avoid this discussion. It was making you feel feverish. Peter had always made you nervous, it was painfully obvious, but this was so much different than just incessant butterflies in your stomach. This was a post-kiss conversation, and you hardly knew what to say to him other than repeating the previous query of, “Seriously, who tells someone thank you after they’ve just kissed you!”

   The question is rhetorical, so he ignores it. That, and because he’s already embarrassed enough by his tactless reply. He waves his hands around aggressively. “I know! I know I did! I didn’t mean to! You scared me!” 

   “Wow, thanks.” 

   “I didn’t mean it like that! You’re not scary, you’re like a baby deer, a fawn, you’re so cute and non-intimidating, I didn’t mean that you were scary I meant that I’ve never been kissed and being kissed by the person you have a crush on is a scary thing especially when it comes out of nowhere so I’m sorry that I said thank you but I just didn’t- my brain doesn’t work sometimes, okay!” Peter runs his hands through his hair. One curl flips down, curling over his forehead in a stupidly cute way.

   “Peter, you literally drive me up the wall, sometimes.” You shake your head, give a sigh, take two steps forward so that you’re so much closer to him than you were before even though two steps shouldn’t feel like you’re closing the widest gap in history. “Should I not have kissed you?” 

   His pretty brown eyes go wide. “Did you not hear the part where I called you cute? And the part where I said I have a crush on you? Do you have selective hearing? Work with me here,” he pleads, taking holding of your shoulders and giving the gentlest shake he can manage. 

   “So, kissing is a yes, then?” You press, just to make sure, just to tease him a little because you can see the way he grows more and more flustered each time you act like you have no idea what he’s talking about. He closes his eyes. There’s a deep inhalation while you stand there waiting for him, and when he kisses you, you’re the one taken by surprise, hands frozen in midair as he lets his lips move from yours in this painfully slow way you’re almost sure he’s taunting you with. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to the punch. 

  “I swear, if you ruin this moment and say it-” 

  “Thank you, Peter.” 

  “I think we’re going to have to break up before we’re even together. You blew it, Y/N. Good work.” 

  “Aw, c’mon! It’ll be our thing.”

  “No.”

TAGS : @iusethistoreadfanfics @pbpz @skymoonandstardust @lunastarwatcher @warcriminalrogers @brittyblogs @tiny-friggin-human @heartfrost @gentlethunderstorm @fairydustparker @emmaaolsen @xwinterromanxff @idioticnerd24 @ravenclaws-say-caw @buckysmaingirl @pillow223 @quacksontommy @handsomeholland @tomarvelicious @fluffyavengers @wavy-ley @radicalstars @nedslaptop @nedandpeter @starparker @parkerroos @stephie-senpai @spideytattoo @peterplanet @fullwizardstrawberry @yoinkpeter @linnsweatpants @mossyfeet @sophia1644 @itsssmichelleee

the art of chasing ♔ billy hargrove

concept: steve has a female best friend and billy has taken it upon himself to flirt with her just to piss steve off. that’s it. that’s the plot.

a/n: i don’t know where this came from. it just sort of happened. it’s not really an imagine bc i don’t like writing in second person or even first person, hence the reason the girl actually has a name. but i guess it can classify as one. i’ll be glad to write more if people enjoy it. also just a disclaimer, i don’t condone billy’s behavior in the show. i know he’s an asshole. but i do love dacre montgomery, so. this happened. also this has no timeframe, it’s just basically taking place randomly in season 2. each scenario is numbered separately that way i can write however many i want whenever i want. sound good?~~


just a young gun with a quick fuse,

i was uptight, wanna let loose.

i was dreamin’ of bigger things and

wanna leave my old life behind.

#1

“’Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit…’” he reiterated in a high-pitched rendition of Nancy Wheeler’s voice.

Annie’s eyebrows rose as she replaced a few things in her locker.

“Ouch,” she said, frowning a bit. “Are you sure she knew what she was talking about? I mean, she was drunk. She might not have even heard what you said. Drunk people usually don’t.”

Steve Harrington gave her a dubious look as he leaned against the locker next to hers. He inclined his head, a strand of brown hair falling down over his forehead.

Keep reading

;the touch of silk (m)

pairing: min yoongi x reader, sugar daddy! yoongi, vampire! yoongi
genre/warnings: smut, romance, blood mentions, but nothing too crazy, dirty talk, dom! Yoongi
words: 14,221

:: summary— in a world where vampires coexist with the living, there are many humans looking for a cheap thrill…you’re ashamed to admit you’re curious too, putting to good use a dating app you find…but Min Yoongi is nothing like you imagined a vampire to be…

Keep reading

seven signs

Summary: Bucky feels like he’s falling in love.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: none - pure fluff!

Word Count: 2.1k [yikes, sorry]

A/N: Here’s my submission for the ever lovely Gen’s @bucky-plums-barnes 8k celebration - congrats again, sweetheart! My prompt was: “You know I only have eyes for you.” - hope you all enjoy :) || masterlist


Originally posted by minmiin1d


Keep reading

“He was lost, Cas. Our last hunt, he almost didn’t make it back and said he saw Billie.”

“He saw Billie?” Castiel parroted. They were both still in the war room in the bunker, the aftermath of recent events still fresh and new in their minds as Sam recounted what happened while Castiel had been “away.” 

“Yeah, and it wasn’t great.” Sam bit his lip. “Cas, When Mom disappeared…when you died. I think it broke him to a point where he couldn’t come back from it and deal with his grief. More than one night he’s had nightmares where I’d have to get him out and it’s always your name that’d he’d scream.”

“Grief is a complex emotion that is difficult to understand. The both of you have suffered with it greatly, but I have passed before.” Castiel paused, cognizant the statement should make no sense to anyone else except for the three of them. “He had been in grief then but had managed to find a way out. What made this time different?”

“I saw your wings, Cas.” A voice interrupted them from the threshold of the war room.

It clicked in Castiel’s head then. Understandable. "Dean.”

Keep reading

Corner of the Coffee Shop

Prompt: ‘Soulmate’ for @just-some-drabbles ‘s writing challenge! (no summary because the prompt says it all)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2073 words

Warnings: fluff, hardly any angst. 

Notes: Thank you so much to my love @untimelyideasforstories for helping me come up with ideas for this story, you saved my ass <3 I also didn’t proofread this, it’s 10:40pm and I have a French test tomorrow argh

Originally posted by marvel-dirtbag

Soulmates, true love, first kisses, those are all things you were told to believe. The first one was real enough, as everyone in the world was born with a permanently inked mark, somewhere on their body. Yours was plainly put into sight, right on the inside of your left wrist. From person to person, their mark differed in handwriting, but it always read the same thing; the date of your soulmate’s birth. Your soulmark was scrawled in a delicate yet slightly messy script, which didn’t really bother you. Your friend could barely read her one, it was that chaotic. But it was the actual words that bothered you, which made you lose faith in having a soulmate that was actually alive.

‘10th of March, 1917.’

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

you „stan“ a manipulative, white supremacist, barely talented, unbelievably rich cow with terrible hair and godawful dance moves. there are so many other great artists, that make music with actual value and finesse, maybe consider „stanning“ someone like that for a change instead of some odd persona a record label is spoonfeeding you : )

*clears throat*

Dear anon, before starting throwing shade at us and Taylor herself, I think that you should check your sources and “facts” first, sit down and read this.

If this person is, I quote, “manipulative” and “a white supremacist”, then I would very much like to take a look at your sources and proof so that we can discuss about it although I have a feeling that most of your “proof” comes from teen magazines or from unreliable sources. I don’t know if you have looked up the definition of white supremacy before, but I will give it to you now: “White supremacy is a racist ideology based upon the belief that white people are superior in many ways to people of other races and that therefore white people should be dominant over other races.” Now, I don’t know how you can qualify Taylor as a white supremacist when she has many friends such as Uzo Aduba (with whom she performed at the 1989 World Tour) and Todrick Hall (who is also starring in her Look What You Made Me Do music video). Moving on, you may call her what you want and you may use terms such as “manipulative” or “unbelievably rich”, but here are some facts about her that you might have skipped:

• she might be rich, but she doesn’t keep the money to herself. In 2015, during Christmas, or as we like to call it, Swiftmas, she sent packages full of gifts to fans around the world. One of these fans was missing a certain amount of money for college, and since Taylor was aware of that, she sent her $1,989 including a lot of other gifts (I used this as a source because I couldn’t find the Tumblr post but y’all can help me later when I post this) (x)

• she has donated an endless amount of money to fans with illnesses, to organizations, visited them at hospitals, and even wrote an eponymous song called “Ronan” for a 4-year old that passed away because of cancer (just google the name of the song and “taylor swift hospital” and you’ll see)

• she gave a certain amount of money and dropped at a hotel a fan who had missed her bus after her concert

• she invites fans TO HER HOME and tells us secrets, bakes for us, stalks us on social media, knows more things about us than ourselves, and is genuinely happy to see us, AND SHE GIVES US THE BIGGEST AND BEST HUG OF OUR LIVES AND SHE DOESN’T LET YOU GO UNTIL YOU LET GO and the conversation between you two flows perfectly because it feels like you’re talking to your long-lost sister and you have so much to talk about (and I and other secret sessioners are the source for this and if you have any questions or you’re don’t believe us you are free to ask politely)

• if you take a look closer, all Taylor never even once ever started the drama. Don’t you think that it’s odd that people keep throwing shade at her for no valid reason when they could actually throw shade at Donald Trump because all he can say is “tremendous”?

• she knows so many things about us it’s insane. She likes our posts daily and interacts with us, even with some emojis, because she knows that it could make a person’s day, week, month, year, or maybe even your entire life. At award shows or any other public event, she doesn’t miss on the opportunity and surprises fans. Do you know any other celebrity who loves their fans so much that they travel to the other side of the world for them, help them financially, send them gifts, spends HOURS with them on social media and tries to meet as many of us as possible?

• she recently met a girl at a secret session who had possibly a miscarriage, and not only did Taylor make her laugh and made her feel better, but the next day, she received an e-mail from Taylor’s team with a specialized doctor’s address. When she asked how much she had to pay them, they replied that everything had already been covered (x)

I would have written more about this but unfortunately I’m running out of time, so I will let our TS defense squad to keep giving you reliable information.

I would like to formally announce you that whatever you may have heard about her is absolutely absurd, no matter where you found the information, or whether you think it’s true.

Also, her hair is so beautiful and I will defeat you if you dare to fight me on this, and who cares about her dance moves?????? Because if your definition of a good artist includes having nice hair and good dance moves then I think that we have a very different illustration of what talent is. I really think that you should listen to her album “Red” and then I’d like to see if you can write such lyrics and if you can represent feelings through instrumentals. You probably have no idea that she has been rewarded so many times throughout her career because of her talent, and she is one of the most awarded celebrities nowadays, yet she is only 27.

I would like to finish this before I go in class with a clarification. You see, I chose Taylor not only for her music, but also for who she is. She has been there for me when I most needed her, and she never failed to bring a smile to my lips in my darkest times. You have here an entire fandom that would agree with me and would gladly tell you specific reasons why everything she does is important to us and why she is so special. Because Taylor isn’t only a celebrity. She’s the person we’ve looked up to in the past few years. She’s our Aunt Becky. She’s our life savior, for many. She’s our ray of sunshine. But most importantly, she’s our best friend. And we have a relationship based on trust, love, and respect, and in all honesty, I think that it’s beautiful.

Mr. Min - Chapter 07

Description:  Your CEO caught your attention the first day you started your new job and it seems the attraction is mutual.  Too bad he’s only interested in a relationship that benefits him.

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 13079

A/N: Originally this was only the first half of chapter 7 but I wanted to get something out for you guys so I decided to split it. I hope it was worth the wait. :)

PlaylistPrologue - Ch 01Ch 02 - Ch 03 - Ch 04 - Ch 05 - Ch 06 - Ch 07

Keep reading

A Moment (Richie/Eddie)

Summary: In which Richie and Eddie are both flustered by a moment that was rudely interrupted.

Prompt 86: “Have you seen- oh

Prompt 42: “I’d like to talk to you when you have your pants on, okay?”

A/N: Thankyou to who requested this!! This is so hard not to make sexual as the request specifically asked for them to be in the middle of a ‘moment’ like a make out and they’re walked in on. Please don’t think I’m trying to sexualise the kiddos in any way shape or form because that is not my intention. ALSO, they’re 15 in this fic!! I’m this age and people at my age are doing MUCH worse than making out so please keep your argument about me sexualising them to yourselves bC TEENAGERS MAKE OUT, TEENAGERS DO A LOT OF BA D THINGS

“Eds, hey- Eds.”

Eddie grumbled, pulling the sheets over his head to block out the voice of Richie Tozier.

“Eds, c’mon. Get up.”

“Fuck off Richie. Don’t call me that.” Eddie hissed, staying under the sheets and attempting to fall back into a peaceful slumber.

Richie frowned, his head tilted with his glasses falling down his nose. He lifted a single finger up and pushed them up, leaving yet again another fingerprint against his dirtied lenses. His imprint smudges the sight in once light, but Richie barely notices.

“No one is fucking here, I think Bill and Stan left.” Richie pestered on, grabbing Eddie’s shoulder and shaking it heavily.

Eddie frowned, eyes slowly sliding open and a groan of frustration leaves Eddie’s lips and he sits up, glaring daggers at Richie with fresh tears of waking up abruptly on his waterline.

“Richie, you fucking asshole. That is what you wake me up for?”

“Well, I woke up alone and I didn’t want to be alone. Why is that a problem?”

“I barely sleep as it is, Richie! You just fucking broke me from an actual good sleep!” Eddie cried, anger pulsing through his veins before he quickly calms down, grabbing his hair strands as he places his head in his hands.

Richie couldn’t help but feel guilt for his own selfish actions, sighing quietly and awkwardly patting at his bare thigh as he only wore underwear and a random band tee, as always, to sleep.

“Eds, I’m sorry.” Richie sat down, climbing onto the mattress next to Eddie.

Eddie was silent for a moment before speaking up, “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to totally freak out.” Eddie too let the nickname slide, as he played with the edged trim of the blanket that covered his own bare legs. 

Silence pierced the thin air of Bill’s room, as the two sat in silence next to each other with their elbows grazing one another. Richie sucked in his bottom lip, and shuddered as he wasn’t covered by Eddie’s bedding and was exposed to the late September air.

“Why don’t you sleep good, Eds?” Richie questioned, with his head tilted and looking towards Eddie.

Eddie nibbled at the skin that peeled from his lower lip, rubbing his hands together and he shrugged.

“I..I guess it’s just nightmares? They’re weird. Like, fuck.” Lies. Total fucking lies.

“What are they like?” Richie watched the way his hands moved and jittered, which was a sign he was lying as well as the lip biting.

“Well,” Eddie started, before trying to find his words as if thinking through everything he was about to say and how he would say it, “Um, just stuff like me getting sick. Shit like that.”

Richie thought about how long he had to think about his supposed ‘nightmares’ and his response to his question. Richie nodded, not pressuring the boy any further.

Eddie gulped as he thought of the real reason, one of his slight fears that often triggered his anxiety late at night. His sexuality. See, Eddie was still curious and testing the waters with himself; not knowing if he was into girls or into guys or both. That wasn’t the problem though, his problem was his Mother. His mother would possibly think that Eddie would be screwed up mentally and have many mental illnesses if he told his Mother that he liked guys in any way shape or form. He’d never get a break and he’d never be allowed to have sleepovers like this or even be allowed to talk another male ever again.

Eddie cringed as the thoughts came back to him, quickly trying to shake them away by focusing upon Richie. 

“So, how was your night? Sleeping, I mean.”

“Oh, I sleep like a fucking rock.” Richie chuckles, his shoulders moving as he chuckles. 

“How is sleeping like a rock a good thing?” Eddie tilts his head, looking to Richie, “Rocks are hard, it must be hard to sleep.”

Richie smirks, “Maybe that’s because I am hard most of the time.”

Eddie is confused for a moment before realisation hits him forcefully and he groans with a blush spreading over his cheeks, “Fuck off, Richie. You know what I meant.”

“Especially morning wood, oh boy, let me tell you-”

Eddie clamps a hand over Richie’s mouth before he gets more flustered than he already is. Eddie’s eyes are wide, staring into Richie’s without blinking. Richie can’t help but notice how the two boys were as close as ever, with Eddie obviously blushing like a tomato. Richie felt his smirk grow even more under Eddie’s palm and he wiggled his eyebrows at the crimson boy.

Eddie felt the movements under his palm, staring into Richie’s large eyes due to his spectacles, before sighing in annoyance.

“Seriously, Richie? Your lenses are jacked up.” Eddie removes his hand before taking Richie’s glasses off slowly and carefully.

Richie was too slow to protest, feeling his own face heat up as his whole face was no longer hidden by his coke bottle glasses which covered a lot of his insecurities up.  Richie felt exposed in a weird way, not being able to see Eddie properly but Eddie being able to see every pore and flaw that laid upon Richie’s face. 

Eddie breathed hot air onto both lenses, using his own shirt to wipe away each of the finger prints and splashes from substances that had stained the lenses.

Richie watched with blind eyes, barely being able to tell what he was doing for him. His eyes were squinted and his head tilted forward and staring directly at the hazed actions.

Finally, Eddie was done and he lifted them up delicately, placing them back on Richie’s face with a small and soft grin. 

“Be more clean, asshole. Isn’t that much better?” Eddie folded his arms over smugly.

Richie blinked and pushed them up higher on his nose, this time with the small space between the lenses and not smudging them like he usually does. He could see much clear, being able to see the soft sun rays peak through the curtains and shining on Eddie’s baby face. He admired everything in that moment, how one eye of his was squinting due to the orange-y hue that blinded one of his eyes from seeing Richie properly and the other remaining soft and bambi like. How Eddie’s right corner of his lips was arched higher than the other and how his usually neatened chocolate strands were in fact out of place and going in every direction.

Richie couldn’t help himself, he really couldn’t. The moment before him couldn’t be more flawless.

Really? You’re gonna do this now? Now-

Richie’s thoughts were cut off by his actions as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Eddie’s.

Eddie’s smug look was wiped away in a split second, his eyes widening as he stared at Richie’s closed pair of eyes with shock and in awe. Eddie had both of his hands raised at the side of Richie’s face in shock which soon, he melted. He melted perfectly against Richie and his hands fell onto his cheeks, feeling Richie’s heated skin beneath his clammy palms. 

Richie felt his hands snake around Eddie’s waist, pulling him onto his lap for a better position in the kiss. Richie, being much more confident than Eddie in the whole ‘first kiss’ scenario as Eddie was of course, oblivious on how to kiss.

The two newly found 15 year old boys, had their arms all over each other with their lips smearing against the other pair that battled for dominance in the kiss. Richie ran his tongue across Eddie’s bottom lip for a silent ask for permission, knowing his boundaries due to Eddie’s phobia of anything to do with germs or sickness’. Eddie hesitated, before opening his lips to allow Richie swirl his tongue inside in perfect sync with Eddie’s. Richie was soft, comfortable and caring for Eddie, making sure to not cross any lines that would make Eddie be disgusted or revolted in any way.

Eddie then pushes Richie forward. At first, this caused Richie to think that he did somehow cross the line but instead- he was pushed on his back and Eddie was sitting on his lower stomach.

Richie stared up at Eddie with soft eyes as well as a smirk. “I always thought you’d be a bottom, Eds.” 

Eddie’s chest burned bright as his blush had spread all over. “Shut up, asshole. I don’t like it when you call me that.”

But oh, how they both knew that what Eddie had said was a lie.

Eddie then leaned down, his lips colliding with Richie’s again, tasting the same blackberry bubblegum that lingered on Richie’s set of lips from the previous night whilst his own tasted of mint. His legs begun shaking lightly from the intense makeout session that was happening currently, only for Richie to place his hand on the back of Eddie’s thigh to soothe him.

Hey have you seen- oh.”

Eddie flung himself away from Richie and Richie fell off the mattress head first with a grunt of pain leaving past his pink and swollen lips. Eddie pressed his back against the wall, tidying his messy hair and trying to cover his own flustered blush that had been permanently tattooed onto his cheeks.

Both saw Stan, stood there, with a water gun in his hands and his own face heating up in embarrassment from walking in on a situation which could’ve went anywhere if he had not walked in. Stan gulped audibly and looked elsewhere.

I’d like to talk to you when you have your pants on, okay?

The two boys looked at each other in horror and realised how the situation must look to someone like Stan who just walked in on the two boys pantless and in their underwear with Eddie sitting on top of Richie in a heated makeout.

“No Stan it’s not-”

Stan had already walked off, without letting Richie finish his sentence.

Eddie quickly reached for his inhaler which was kept under his pillow, taking a few quick puffs from anxiety racing under his skin. Richie looked over worryingly before sighing.

“Look, don’t worry. Lets just get dressed and go talk to him, kay’?”

Despite Richie’s comforting words, Eddie couldn’t help but feel his fear of his sexuality raise higher and higher. He pushed it back as both him and Richie dressed themselves in their usual attire for the day.

Both boys, once done changing, looked at eachother with soft eyes and Richie then offered his hand out to Eddie and tilting his head as if he was mentally asking, ‘Are you okay?’

Eddie nodded, reaching his own out and grabbing Richie’s for comfort. Richie then walked forward and guided his soon to be boyfriend out of Bill’s empty bedroom.

know it all — p.p.

summary : may parker can’t fathom that you and her nephew aren’t dating yet- she can’t wait forever, you know, and she knows it’s going to happen eventually. when has may ever been wrong?

word count : 3k

author’s note : long time no see?? LOL sophomore year is successfully kicking my ass but i wrote this and it’s semi long so?? 

   May Parker prides herself on a lot of things- namely, her stunning resilience in the face of immense adversity, and the way she just seems to know things. She can’t help it, it’s her not so lame superpower and she uses it on Peter all the time, much to his annoyance. She earns a roll of the eyes whenever she says something out of the blue, so profound Peter can’t help but contemplate its credibility for the hours that follow their interactions. She knows things, she does, and she knows that you and her nephew are as meant to be as her and Ben were- are, she chastises herself sometimes- and she knows it so truly in the deepest recesses of her heart that the fact that you and Peter aren’t together is something that goes right over her head. 

   “Peter, hon, when’s your girl coming over? I miss having other ladies in the house,” she says one day, interrupting the silence that had settled upon the pair  as Peter recited the periodic table of elements so naturally in his head in preparation for a quiz the following day. Peter loses track somewhere between lithium and beryllium or maybe it was phosphorus, he doesn’t know anymore, when he hears May call you that, his girl, and he shakes his head at her wildly. “What? What’d I say?” May points her wooden spoon at him, and Peter’s reminded that she’s Italian for the fifth time that day. 

   “May, she’s not- she’s not my, like, girlfriend,” he stresses each syllable the word carries, practically throwing his pencil across the table when he turns his chair to get a better view of his aunt as she prepares dinner- pasta, again, because she claims it’s the only thing she can’t possibly mess up. “You know that! Y/N’s been my best friend forever.” 

    “You realize you can be best friends with your girlfriend, don’t you?” Peter can sense May’s eyes rolling even though he can’t see her since she’s facing the stove with her back turned. “You two have definitely kissed. You can’t tell me you haven’t.” 

    Peter’s entire face feels hot when she says that, his hands clammy when he presses them together against his cheeks, placing his elbows on the table to prop his head up. “That’s embarrassing, May. Why would you ever ask me that?” He runs his hands through his hair and the gel is so terribly packed on it that the carefully prepared hairstyle comes undone with one swift movement. “We haven’t, in case you’re wondering, which I know you are because you’re nosy.” Peter feels the spoon lightly poke into his back, a playful warning. 

   “Anyways,” May continues loudly, “as I was saying before, your girlfriend should come over for dinner sometime this week. I’m making pasta.” She grins before placing a bowl of penne in front of Peter, his least favorite pasta shape. Peter scowls at the penne but picks up his fork anyway and shoves some in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a moment before giving May a thumbs up. At least she was proud of it. “I won’t make penne if you get her to come over.” 

    She knows she’s got him when she sees the slow, unsure nod start. He sticks his hand out, and May shakes it happily. “Only because of the penne. I want bowties. Please,” he gives his aunt his best, brightest, sweetest smile he can form, much like the ones that come so naturally when he turns his gaze to look at you- but May won’t bring that up just yet. “And don’t make girlfriend jokes in front of her.” His utensil stabs into the pasta as he thinks to himself, ‘cause if you keep it up in front of her, she’ll think I’m a weirdo and I’ll never genuinely get to call Y/N that, ever. Honestly, he’d much rather launch himself headfirst off of the Empire State Building than never get to experience kissing you, holding your hand, being with you in all those sorts of hopelessly romantic ways that he daydreams about regularly. He’s doing it again, slipping into that endless reverie he always seems to find himself lost in. But it’s okay. His mind is a chasm of soft loves and sweet words shared between the two of you. It’s a beautiful, long mess of a dream. 

   “You lost, Pete?” May snaps her fingers in front of his face, bemused. 

    “A little,” he sighs in that dreamy tone she recalls her own self indulging in so fondly in her younger years. His gaze becomes hazy again, like he’s on another plane entirely, but she lets him be. For now. 


    Peter knows he’s dressing up a little too much for just a friend. He’s spraying too much strong cologne and gelling his hair excessively and praying you won’t notice the fact that it’ll be dryer than the leaves in the wintertime, but it’s all too much for someone he insists is his best friend and his best friend alone, nothing more and nothing less, certainly not his girlfriend. Never that, right? Peter frowns at his reflection and tilts his head down, rubbing his head in attempt to remove most of the gel that had been a serious mistake in the first place. You preferred his hair curly, anyway. Not that he cared. Not in the slightest. He puts on the sweater that you once said looked lovely on him and he wears his nice jeans, the ones without that stupid hole near the butt cheek that you can’t really see unless you’re trying

   His cheeks flush when May gives a tiny, satisfied smirk upon seeing his perfectly put together outfit. He acts as if no time at all was spent on his appearance, but she knows him, like she knows everything else, and she knows that he’s been holed up in the bathroom for over twenty minutes now trying to see which shirt matched his eyes best and debating the chances of you realizing that this was the sweater you liked the most on him before he put it on and beamed at himself in the mirror. Maybe it was the color or the stitching or the fabric but he was starting to like this one much more, too. 

   “You look very handsome, sweets,” May says to him, squeezing his shoulder as she brushes past him to place a salad on the table. Peter surveys the salad with a strange look on his face. 

   “Why’d you make a salad? Since when does Y/N eat salad?” He raises his eyebrows at her, before adding with haste, “not that I don’t love your salad, Aunt May, ‘cause I do. I promise.”  

   Aunt May places her hands on her hips, peering at him through the tops of her glasses in a way that makes her look too wise for someone as young as she was. “I’m making a good impression, obviously.” 

   “You’ve known her for like ten years now, the time for good impressions is over, May. You missed your chance.”

   “This is the first time I’m seeing Y/N as your girlfriend, though!” Peter lets out the loudest groan imaginable, running his hands over his cheeks and slapping his forehead with great vexation. 

   “Still not my girlfriend,” he insists on insisting, taking the extra plates out of her busy hands and helping to set the small kitchen table. 

   May smooths back a loose strand of hair from his forehead with a kind, teasing grin on her face. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want her to be, kiddo.” 

   He can’t possibly argue with that sort of logic, especially not when his aunt hits the nail right on the head in that peculiar way she has a habit of doing, so he just smiles and kisses May on the cheek. There’s a knock on the door less than a second later, and the pair scramble for the upper hand before Peter beats her to it and nearly flies to grab the handle of it and yank it open so he can greet you accordingly, slightly out of breath with his hair flopping to one quite nicely and a joyous smile making its way across his mouth when he sees you for the first time that day. May hovers earnestly behind him, hands fluttering over her nephew’s shoulders so she can push past him to wrap you in a hug if need be. Sometimes Peter has the impression that May adores you even more than he does; he wasn’t sure if he should be glad for that, or a bit offended that you seemed to return the blatant favoritism with ardency. 

   There was a brief second where your eyes raked over your best friend’s face with soft admiration, hidden as carefully as you could manage. When you met his appreciative gaze you felt the palms of your hands clam up and so you cast your look back to his aunt and playfully pushed past him to give her a hug. 

   Peter, offense overriding his previously somewhat moonstruck expression, backed away from you when you finally turned toward him with your arms outstretched. “Oh, now I get a hug? Interesting,” he rolls his eyes in a teasing manner, unable and unwilling to conceal his little, loving smile that appeared when you pried his arms off his chest and defiantly wrapped them around yourself as you hugged him. “Didn’t seem so interested in hugging me when you were shoving me away to get to May,” he says, craning his neck to stare at you whilst continuing to drag the embrace out for as long as possible. 

   “You’re still my favorite Parker,” you reply, poking his chest lightly. Then you turn away before you can say anything else that could be considered too revealing of certain, carefully concealed feelings that had the possibility of being detrimental to a beautiful friendship that had manifested over the years into something more, but not quite, not yet. “Sort of,” you put as an afterthought, lest he get any ideas about you feeling… something for him. “Anyways, what’s for dinner, May?” You anticipate pasta, and when May announces the dish with a great flourishing of her hand, you grin. Typical, yes, but nothing if not welcomed. 

  Peter, gentleman that he is, pulls out your chair for you, and you let yourself imagine that he’s doing it as a chivalrous boyfriend and not simply a polite friend. He imagines the same, though. Imagines that he’s on a date with you and he pulls out your chair and smiles kindly and lovingly- and he basks in this image for as long as he can. May calls you over then, and the daydream is shattered. You make your way over to her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

   May lowers her voice before speaking, “Y/N, I’m gonna need you to explain something to me,” she starts. You nod, raising your eyebrows at her. “Explain why you and Peter aren’t together yet. Honestly, honey, I just can’t understand it.” She talks with her hands the way Peter does. 

   “Uh- what? I, um, I don’t… understand?” Your voice cracks a little, as if having May practically shove your less than friendly feelings for Peter back in your face wasn’t embarrassing enough. “We’re, um, you know, like, friends.” 

   Her hand waves dismissively, pushing that sentence away. “No, no, see that’s what he said, too! I have to disagree. I know everything, kiddo, and I know that you two are going to make it as a couple, so if that’s what your afraid of, don’t be. Go for it. I see the same thing in him that I see in you right now, and that thing is love. So, I’m going to need you to go make my nephew the happiest kid on Earth and tell him you’re falling in love with him, and you’ll see that he’s going to say the same thing to you. Trust me. Aunt May knows all,” she shrugs in a casual manner, brushing her confidence off, before she steers you around and gently pushes you back toward the tiny dining room table where Peter sits awkwardly fiddling with his thumbs with his lip caught between his teeth. 

   “Hi,” you almost whisper, settling down in your seat across from him. 

   He glances up. “Hey,” he says, smiling again. A reflex, in your presence. He clears his throat, then asks, “So, what’d you and May talk about?” He knows May loves him as if he were her son, which for all intents and purposes he is, but he can’t be sure of her secrecy. He wouldn’t put it past his aunt to let slip “accidentally” that he liked you, loved you, cared for you. 

   You take a sip of your glass of water that Peter must have filled in your absence from the table. You had a tendency to take sips of your drink when in uncomfortable conversations, or conversations you felt nervous in. He notes that. “Oh, um, nothing really… but if were gonna talk about it, I’d wanna do it in, like, private?” You twirl your straw around your drink, mixing the ice in the glass. Peter abruptly stands from his chair. You watch him sling a jacket around his shoulders and throw one of his sweaters at you, which you catch easily. “You wanna go now?” 

   He nods, licking his lips anxiously. “No better time than the present, right?” If you’re going to confront him and crush his heart with a single sentence that stands along the lines of I see you as a friend, he wants it done sooner rather than later. He wants it over with, so he can go back to his suffering in comfortable silence and start an attempt to move past this crush the way he had easily drifted away from his crush on Liz Allan. You fumble with the sweater as you stand. “May, we’re gonna step out for a bit!” Peter announces, opening the front door of his apartment and letting you slip out first. He doesn’t wait for her response before he disappears, too. May watches the two of you leave and feels her heart grow twice its size. 

  You’re standing outside the apartment building ten minutes later in the chilly autumn breeze, thankful for the cologne scented sweater that rests over your body like a warm blanket. Peter’s hands are never cold, and so they linger outside of his pockets as opposed to yours, shoved inside the front pocket of the sweater he’s given you. He reaches for your hands wordlessly and rubs them over his. “You’re always freezing,” he laughs quietly, lacing his fingers through yours with a new burst of confidence that you find endearing as you squeeze his hands. “Hey, wanna know something? You might know it already but, I figure I should tell you myself, if you wanna know.” He swings his hands back and forth, and yours swing along with his. 

   “Yeah, please,” you insist, twisting your head to the side to sweep the windswept hair out of your face. One of Peter’s hands comes up to brush it out of the way, typical and cliche and an overplayed move but none of that matters when the action is being carried out, because it makes your stomach constrict in that funny way and your heart melt into a puddle on the dirty sidewalk. His fingers linger over the softness of your cheek, and he keeps his hand there to see what you’ll say about it. You say nothing, let remain there. “You gonna tell me or not?” 

  “Should I- I could maybe…” he sucks on the bottom of his lip. “Forget it, I don’t know how to speak properly around you like this.” You start to protest, demand he tell you because you won’t be able to stop thinking about this if he doesn’t, but every word dies before it can touch the edge of your lips. Peter has his head lowered down toward you and he’s kissing you, a thought that’s crossed your mind more times than you were able to count but now, it’s happening. Real lips pressed against yours feverishly, shyness forgotten in the heat of the moment. When he pulls away first, it returns and collides with him as if he’s hit a brick wall, and his cheeks burn red. He makes no move to back away, still. “D-Did I step out of line? Was that okay? Do you hate me? ‘Cause if you do we can go back upstairs or you can leave and then on Monday we can pretend that this never happened because you’re still my best friend no matter what even if it’s awkward-” 

   Your hands clasp together around the back of his neck as you yank him down toward you again, and this time you kiss him back. You can feel him smiling so hard it makes it difficult to kiss him, but when you break away to tell him that, he just laughs and smiles harder and keeps kissing you. He doesn’t know how to stop now that’s he had the opportunity. You’re both laughing hysterically and trying to kiss properly and his nose bumps against yours repeatedly, and it’s the most perfect first kiss in the world. 

   He keeps his hand firmly grasped in yours when you go back upstairs to his seventh floor apartment, opens the door for you and everything. May is sitting at the table, turns her head to the both of you and peers at you from the top of her glasses. Peter raises his hand and yours, triumphant. May claps her hands together as he, your boyfriend, declares proudly, “Aunt May, I would like to formally introduce you to my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N, who I hope will be sticking around?” He looks to you for reassurance, and gets what he needs from the happy kiss you bestow upon the side of his face. 

   “I told you two I know everything!” Is what breaks the joyous silence, and then the laughter starts again; a perfectly lovely family. 

Keep reading

This is written for @gallusrostromegalus who is sick and apparently really enjoys chickens, so. Fair warning that you are going to read about my family and chickens. I don’t normally write stories on tumblr, so here’s hoping you enjoy the narrative despite the shoddy storytelling.

To begin, I should start with my mother the Undercover Hippie. I spent a good portion of my childhood thinking my mother was normal because she didn’t dress in tie-dye, but as an adult, I’ve realised there are several things that marked my mother as one of those Boulder Hippies. The types that aren’t really Hippie in the seventies sense, but more in the ‘making questionable health and lifestyle choices because it is the newest Organic Idea going around.’ Notable occasions on this list are the time that she filled the brownies with wheat germ and made them crunchy, the time she brought my east-coast-city-child cousins on a camping trip, and the time she got chickens.

Chickens, in and of themselves, are reasonable things to own. Usually. However, my mother wanted them for eggs and began by taking the childhood fort (which most of us had grown out of) and turning it into a chicken coop. By chicken coop, I mean she stuck some boxes in it and put a fence around it, and patched up the hole in the side from A’s Enthusiastic Ninja Punch, and the hole in the other side from C’s Peephole Experiment, and the last hole from my own childhood Cannonball, and both windows, and then got chickens.

My mother is the sort of learner who just starts a project and then learns as she goes. While she knew they needed food and basic heating, she was otherwise a bit naiive.

For example, it turns out L, my sister, is terrified of chickens. My mother apparently didn’t know this (Mom, I don’t like the idea of chickens) until the chickens (Mom, really, do you think we have to have chickens, because they have beaks, and I got pecked once) actually got to the house (OH MY GOD GET IT AWAY. GET. IT. AWAY. GET IT AWAY GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!!!).

Additionally, Mom forgot that chickens can fly short distances and the fort has a loft and thus made the interesting mistake of not wiring off the top areas of the roof.  On Day One she had to knock on the neighbour’s door and ask if she could retrieve her chickens from their yard.

Eventually, after many phone calls, Mom got a handle on chicken care - by which I mean she passed the project onto my chicken-enthusiastic younger brother, who adored them. Not only did Mom have chickens, she had Happy Chickens who were more than pleased to make Many Eggs, and the family chowed down happily.

W, my chicken-enthusiastic younger brother, explained chickens to me this way:

Chickens have a hierarchy, so you have to have a rooster. They’ll start pecking each other and it’s a mess, but roosters kinda keep them calm, though roosters can get aggressive if the hierarchy gets disturbed, so you have to keep the roosters calm. This isn’t really hard, except that if you have to have a rooster, you’ve got a chance of eggs getting fertilised, and we want to eat them, so you have to go out and get the eggs every day, unless you want more chickens, and there’s a limit of how many chickens you can have inside city limits.

All of which seems perfectly reasonable, and was perfectly reasonable, until Mom decided to go on a fortnight’s holiday with my younger brothers, including W.

This left L in charge of the chickens.

Now, my mother is not a reasonable person, so if you’re just now wondering why Mom left the chicken-terrified child in charge of the chickens, it’s because mom is either an idiot or an arse. I’ve still not decided to this day which one she is, so we’ll leave it at that. But regardless of Mom’s motivations, my younger sister is now in charge of the chickens. She can’t get within a few yards before wanting to burst into tears, but also has a Big Heart and doesn’t want the chickens to die.

The chickens need to be fed and watered.

According to W, several things had happened when he got home and took charge of ‘his’ chickens again.

  1. On day one, L had attempted to feed the chickens, and upon entering the coop had been met by the Rooster, who, not recognising her, had immediately gone into Protective Mode. L had fled the coop, dropping the food but leaving the door open. This led to L calling the neighbours in a panic asking for a Group Hunt for the Chickens because she was too terrified to round them up out of the yard. A friendly neighbour put the end of the hose into the water trough so L could just turn it on instead of going in.
  2. L had fed the chickens every day by taking a bucket about the right size full of feed and tossing it into the coop. Not just the feed - the whole bucket. W had to pick up 12 different containers because after L ran out of buckets she just started using old yoghurt containers and whatever else she could find. The chickens apparently didn’t mind being bombed with buckets full of food, just ran out of the way and then attacked the containers until they got their due.
  3. L didn’t fetch the eggs, not even once, which meant that now W was a full eight chicks over the city limit, and had to give six more to some friends in the foothills who weren’t in city limits and could have as many chicks as they wanted. He ended up keeping the eight chicks and bargaining with the neighbours that they could have free eggs, provided that if the city Chicken Inspectors came by, the neighbours would tell the Chicken Inspectors that W was just caring for their chickens while they built a new coop or something.

By the time W, L, A, and my mother left to live in Swaziland (another story altogether), my brother had ten chickens over the limit, all extremely pleased and contented with life, until L went Anywhere Near The Coop, at which point they would all start shrieking like the dickens and running out of the way of any impending Food Bombs, except for the Rooster, who would puff up and start attacking the fence in preparation.

Anyway, the point of this story is Don’t Leave L In Charge Of The Chickens, with side morals of Don’t Buy Pets You’re Not Prepared For and Don’t Fuck With Roosters, and also I hope you feel better.

Rhysand, High Lord of Me Crying

Rhys:

  • Grew up facing racial prejudice (likely from both sides of his heritage) whilst also being taught to racially discriminate against part of his heritage
  • Adored his mother and had to watch her be trapped in a relationship with a man she hated for fear of her losing her wings.
  • Was repeatedly brutalized and whipped from the age of eight and onwards, taught that the only way to survive was to fight and win against others.
  • Had his parents brutally murdered by his best friend and his family (and still tries to stop his own father from returning the favor to said best friend)
  • Inherited a title and court known for its cruelty and malice, despised and feared by the rest of the kingdom, where his own court’s Capital and nobility would view him as weak if he tried to show kindness or mercy
  • Was repeatedly, systematically, and mercilessly raped for fifty years after being robbed of all of his powers
  • Watches the love of his life die before his eyes, and then later has to watch her endure emotional and physical abuse at the hands of Tamlin

Also Rhys:

  • Spends his entire life fighting to destroy racism and unite all species in equality, from lesser fae to humans to high fae. 
  • Tries his damned hardest to be a feminist, despite growing up in a culture where you KNOW feminist critique and writing either wouldn’t exist or would definitely be censored/unpublished and probably considered treason given this whole ‘High Lords Only’ club. Ensured women were a part of his group of advisers to try and learn from own voices on how to be better than society teaches him to be, and made sure that should he ever fall, power should fall to them, not other men.
  • Uses violence as a means to justify the ends (see Feyre’s arm breaking, resolving conflict through battle and war, fighting Cassian to release his post-mating aggression) because he was raised to believe violence was an everyday part of life and a key element of learning and self-imrpovement. Is still able to recognise that these acts were not ideal and apologizes for them (to Feyre) as he did to Cassian and Azriel, who, through he way in which Illyrian conditioning works, he was first set up to antagonize and fight. 
  • Despite his best friend getting his family killed, abusing his mate, aiding in the mass genocide of racial prejudice, he still tries to settle the discord with him without violence and tries to be the better person, be it for morality’s sake or for the sake of others and the kingdom.
  • Finds his own way to exploit the reputation he inherits, preforming as an evil dictator whilst all of his actions are used to help people and try and protect those the system he was born into oppresses and abuses, even if he cannot change it all at once and still struggles at times to identify what is right and what is wrong, and to learn what helps, what doesn’t, and what problems exist with his current attempts to be better. Eventually gives up his ‘evil’ persona when his mate shows him that it is okay and that together they will be strong enough to deal with the backlash and STILL protect the people they care for and have a duty of care to.
  • Has dedicated his own library to victims of rape and abuse, is infinitely careful around his mate who suffered similar issues, and despite never really getting to talk about or reconcile with the hell of sexual abuse, manipulation, and psychological torture he was put through, he still makes himself keep his shit together and stay sane and as compassionate as possible for what he believes in, to the point where the only time his pain is allowed to be expressed is when he’s asleep at night and literally cannot control the nightmares that haunt him
  • Protects his mate and those he loves to the point of being destructively self-sacrificing because he has lost them time and time and time again, but still tries to acknowledge this and let them have their choice, do what they feel they need to do, and not freak out at them when they act on their own accord and endanger themselves because he knows they have freewill and that is their right even when it scares him the fuck to death and probably induces so many flashbacks of all the times he has lost everyone he’s ever loved.

Also Also Rhys:

  • Doesn’t claim to be perfect or the epitome of feminism or ideal morality
  • doesn’t use his reasons to excuse his behavior, but to explain his reasoning as to why he acted as he did
  • Makes mistakes that he still needs to acknowledge, especially regarding Morrigan, but hey ACOWAR is not the end and we know SJM can progress characters a fucking ton over the course of one book (see ACOMAF)
  • Unlike Amarantha, Jurian, Tamlin, and countless others, he never once says he’s ‘the way he is’ because of his past experience. He never uses his own suffering to justify inflicting it upon others. Always, his reasoning comes down to what he thinks will be the best for others and what he thinks will win them safety and protection and happiness in the end, even when those choices are fucking difficult and there is no obvious answer.

Me:

  • He just, he tries so hard and he is so fucking strong in the face of all he’s endured and he cares so much and he just *sobbing* I don’t care if he’s hot or pretty or has the biggest wingspan, he just is such an inspiration for those of us who make mistakes and were raised with views that are harmful to others or perpetrate systems of oppression. HE TRIES AND I RESPECT HIM FOR THAT SO MUCH.

(p.s thanks @my-name-is-fireheart for reminding me why Rhys deserves the world)

You can't have your cake & eat it too. (m)


;pairing—jeon jeongguk x reader 

;words—8k

;genre— angst, smut, friends w/ benefits

;a/n— one shot??? fic??? idk yet 



Keep reading

Bruises On Another (part two)

Originally posted by buckyssteves

Prompt: Steve doesn’t know where they come from, and he isn’t exactly sure why they’re there. All he knows is that his body is littered in bruises, and there’s something different about them. They aren’t just bruises, and they certainly didn’t come from a trip in a step or clumsiness. No, Steve knows there’s more behind the marks that litter his body.

THIS IS A SERIES: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - finale

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: marks, bruises, pain, physical abuse, etc. I mean no disrespect to anyone or to upset anyone, this story starts off rough but I can say that things will get better.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

P.S. This a soulmate AU.

Tag’s List: @slythergirlimagines - @agentwhlskey - @impulsivesuperrobin - @darlingimawriter - @starshininginthedark - @jxhn-mxrphy - @audreysduvxl - @patronuscas - @ninjacookiegirl - @losers-club-imagines-and-stuff - @evelxn-cruz - @lovatoarchives - @justanothermarvelfan - @hey-margot - @draussen-ist-freiheit - @pennywyatt - @ordinarily-weird - @theloveisgoodbadours - @delicrieux - @burgerrroll - @kingham-writes - @suicidesqwads - @i-hate-the-pie-people - @slightly-depressed-idiot - @winter111502 - @chasestudy - @simplyhollander - @jessie9008 - @poppunkdork - @almusanzug - @babyhollands
Want to be featured on the tag’s list? Message me letting me know!
bolded is who I couldn’t tag!


You left you last class of the day as quickly as you could. It wasn’t that it was per-say a bad class, or that the entire day had been bad, but the people in the room itself made you uncomfortable and you’ve never been one for socializing. Not to mention you couldn’t shake the sight of that boy, who you’d learned was Steve when Mr. Jones had called on him, had the exact same bruise on the exact same eye as you.

It must of be coincidence. That was the only logical explanation but you’ve see the bruise on your eyes enough times to know that the bruise on that boys face was identical to yours. Not just in the same place, but where the bruise faded and where it begun was exactly the same. You’d never seen anything like it, and you just knew that avoiding Steve was your best case scenario. It wouldn’t be good to get involved with a boy and you knew your father wouldn’t like it.

Once you made your way outside of the classroom, your fingers found the same sheet of paper before and with delicate fingers you searched for your locker number. You soon enough found it and once you did, your eyes begun to glance around the halls for the matching locker. Surprisingly it seemed this time it didn’t take you as long to find what you were looking for and you mentally sighed in relief, the sooner you were able to put your books away the sooner you could get home and you knew that’s what your father liked best.

Dialling the code into the lock, it soon enough popped open and you swung open your locker. You didn’t dwell long at the sight of your very old and very ruined locker, opting instead for shoving your books inside and shutting it the minute you were done. Once the books were out of your hand, you glanced around the busy hallway for a moment and paused in thought. This was to be the rest of your year, spending half of it in this hellhole and the other half at home where it was hell.

Your hand found its way to your neck where you found a necklace, the necklace that never seemed to leave your neck no matter what. To bite down the sickness that welled within you, you gripped the necklace pendant; a gold bird with it’s wings spread and felt some of your anxiety lessen. 

Though as you stood there, your eyes met a familiar brown pair and you paused. There was a second that you just stared into his eyes before you shook your head and turned the other way. You were meant to stay away from him, not literally gaze into his eyes from afar like some romantic drama. So that’s what you did, and soon enough you found yourself on the path towards home, clutching your backpack strap nervously.

Your arm ached but you ignored the pain and instead focused on the peaceful walk home. This new path home seemed to be your only solace now as it gave you time to truly be alone and by yourself. And as you walked you let your mind wander over just exactly how your life had turned this way. You thought about your old life, in Florida and realized how much you truly missed it. Your father and you had moved to Hawkin’s so abruptly and quickly it’d never really given you the time to think about everything. And now that you were here, you realized you’d give anything to go back to the way the things were.

Though, as always, the peace never did quite last long and soon enough you found yourself in front of your front door, just staring at it. You couldn’t quite describe the feeling that welled within you, knowing what waited behind the door but you knew you couldn’t avoid it anymore.

It was inevitable.

So slowly you slid your house key into the deadbolt and unlocked the door. You’d done this for so many days, you’d expected to grow use to the feeling by now but still you couldn’t seem to get ride of the weighing feeling that fell upon your shoulders or the way your hands began to shake in dread. You swung the door open and were relieved to see no one else around, and taking a step in you slipped off your shoes.

“Father?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper; just like it had been for so long.

You thought for a moment that you were in luck and you made your way to the staircase in relief but then footsteps echoed and a hand caught your arm. You closed your eyes for a moment, before turning around and meeting the gaze of your father. “Father.” You repeated, this time as a statement and respectively smiled his way. 

“You’re home late.” Was all your father said in a gruff voice.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and laughed lightly; “only a few minutes. And besides, it was the first day-” You stopped speaking the moment you felt his grip tighten, considerably, and bit your lip. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“How many times have I told you-” Your father began and you felt the sinking feeling within you grow as you knew that he wasn’t going to just let this pass. “I want you home before four thirty, no later. And I expect dinner to be ready by five.” 

“Yes,” was all you said.

Your father tugged you forward harshly, making you nearly trip over your own two feet as you narrowly missed falling down the stairs. Once your feet met solid ground, you straightened yourself out, trying to ignore the way your breath grew heavy and glanced back at your father nervously. You hated the way he glared at you, as if you’d actually done something wrong. Something more than arrive home a few minutes late.

“Dinner.” Your father ordered, letting go of your hand and you sighed in relief, the pain lessening considerably. “I expect it to be ready by five.” You nodded, knowing better than to speak and your father shoved in you in the direction of the kitchen harshly. This time you weren’t so lucky, and you tripped over your own feet and fell to the ground.

You let out a soft groan as your knees smacked against the hardwood and as you glanced behind you, you found your father already gone. Taking a deep breath, you ignored the pain in your knee and crawled up. With shame you made your way into the kitchen and leaned against the kitchen counter with a heavy sigh. You clenched your fists tightly, ignoring the way your nails dug into your palm and felt your body shake.

This was nothing new but yet every time it happened, it seemed to upset you more.

How was this fair?


Steve stood next to Nancy, leaning against the lockers with a distant look as he heard the chatter from the girls beside him. Normally, despite the sometimes girly talk, he was much more involved but ever since yesterday he couldn’t seem to get the image of you out of his head. The same day you appeared, bruises begun to appear on his arm and there was something about you yesterday; something that seemed off.

Mind you, he’d only seen you in one class and the only thing Steve knew about you was that you were a new student… but there was a feeling within Steve. He couldn’t describe it- but there was just something.

“Steve?” Nancy called, glancing over at her boyfriend in wonder. Furrowing her brows when the boy didn’t answer, she waved her hand in front of his face; “Steve?” That seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he’d been in and blinking, he shifted his body to glance at Nancy with curiosity.

“Uh- what?”

Nancy laughed and a smile slipped over her friends face; “I asked you a question.”

Steve blinked again, feeling guilt well within him at the fact that he hadn’t been listening. Shaking his head lightly, he shifted his body so he was leaning towards Nancy and crossed his arms over his chest, letting a smile fall across his lips. “Sorry. What was it?”

Nancy shook her head in response, “it’s nothing.” She replied, waving it off and Steve nodded in response. Before he knew it he found himself glancing around the hallway in distant thought and Nancy pursed her lips, glancing over at her friend in question who only shrugged in response. “Hey.” Nancy called, setting a hand on Steve’s arm as his gaze fell to hers once again. “What’s wrong? You’ve seem odd ever since yesterday.”

Steve paused; “it’s nothing.” He shrugged, not wanting to worry Nancy. Pausing a moment, he decided to ask the question that had been plaguing his mind. “Hey, have you guys seen the new girl?”

“The one with the H/C hair?” Nancy’s friend questioned and Steve nodded in response.

“Yeah, I helped her find her class yesterday. I think she has english with you.” Nancy answered and Steve nodded in response, his eyes looking around in thought. 

“Yeah-” He nodded, “yeah she does.”

“Why?”

“Oh nothing.” Steve waved off, “she just seemed a bit off.”

“Well she was wearing that thick sweater in this heat, which I have no idea how she wasn’t dying.” Nancy commented, narrowing her eyes in what seemed like concern for a moment before looking over at her friend. “And she almost seemed jumpy. When I went to hand her back this piece of paper, she jumped as if i’d hurt her or something.”

“I heard some girls saw her covering up a bruise yesterday in the bathroom.”

Steve paused, his face falling with realization and he glanced over at Nancy’s friend, who he’d never bothered to learn the name of and asked; “what?”

Nancy’s friend raised an eyebrow and blew a bubble with her bubblegum. “Yeah,” she shrugged, like it was no big deal which it really wasn’t. Wasn’t to everyone except Steve. “Apparently a huge bruise over her left eye, all purple and shit.” The girl explained, taking her hand to demonstrate further. Steve slumped against the locker in confusion- it must- it has be a coincidence.

“Much like your’s Steve.” Nancy commented off-handedly.

“Yeah…” He mumbled, not really thinking. He’d known something was off with you yesterday, especially when he’d met your eyes and you almost looked like you’d seen a ghost. A bruise… exactly on your left eye just like his and his own had appeared the same day you did. Steve shook his head, this was crazy. There was no possible way that you had something to do with the bruises appearing on his body…

right?

“There she is now.” Nancy spoke up, pulling Steve from his thoughts as he peered up and found you. Though his face fell when he saw exactly who you were with.

“With Billy?”


Part 3?

Let me know below!

“You’re pregnant and he cheats on you” Pt. 4.1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4.2

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

(a/n): I’m really happy everyone enjoyed this series so here is the fourth part, next will mark the end and I could really use more requests!

Masterlist | Ask


It wasn’t until 5 years later when you made your return to Seoul. After packing you left to go back to your hometown to stay with family for the meantime. Being a single mother of a now, 5 year old boy, wasn’t the hardest task in the book, but it also wasn’t the easiest, even with the aide of you parents at hand. You wanted to move back to Seoul for, one, new job opportunities and two, so you could re-connect with old friends. Hoseok is the first person you called to inform of your return and he spared no time showing up to your newly bought apartment to help you unpack.

Jihae was more than excited to meet Hobi. He was technically the uncle he never had so when there was a knock at the door he was quick to beat you to it, with his little hands trying so hard to turn the knob, which, failed miserably. You helped him and opened the door, being greeted with a Hobi’s signature smile.

“Hobi…!”

Your three year old was quick to wrap his small form around Hoseok’s leg making you laugh. You moved over and picked up Jihae, stepping to the side for Hoseok to enter the apartment.

You walked over to the living room area then took the moment to greet Hoseok, setting the 5 year old down..”It’s been five years since we last saw each other in person hasn’t it?”

He chuckled and nodded looking around the apartment. “It has, and it’s been a hell of a lot different after you left.”

“We can catch up about that later, All I know is I am glad to be back.” You smiled then pulled your hair back in a tight pony-tail and picking up a box. “Anyways, Who’s ready to get to work around here~?”

Jihae was quick to reply, throwing his arms into the air.

“Me..!”


The remainder of the day was mostly spent painting and un-boxing much of the stuff, but with a lot of hard-work on most of the rooms, and by most, the living room and both yours and Jihae’s room, was set, leaving the kitchen, bathroom, and spare room left to finish.

Hoseok stepped out of one of the rooms being worked on and sat down with a sigh. “It takes that long for a couple rooms? Its been 7 hours…!” He stifled a laugh, before leaning forward. “I would ask if you want to go out with the boys just for a little together but I feel as if it is to late for that.”

You shook your head. “Actually that would be great…!” You smiled getting up from your chair.

“Are you sure..?” He raised an eyebrow at you. “It is only 6, We don’t go to bed till 9.” You smiled. “Just give me time to get washed up..”

He nodded and texted the boys as you took Jihae in your arms to get him dressed. “Momma… Were going to meet Uncle Tae and Jin…?” You smiled and nodded. “And Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon..”

“What about daddy?”

It’s as if the color drained from your face. There’s the question you always wanted to avoid but you knew that it would pop up soon. Trying to find the right words you set your son down and smiled a bit sadly. “When the time comes I will tell you but now wouldn’t be good…”

“But I wanna know…!” You started to put his shoes on him. “Trust me… I will tell you but to much things are happening right now..”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did something happen between Mommy and Daddy…?” You sighed and nodded. “At your age, you wouldn’t be able to fully understand.” Your son pouted making you smile. It was scary how similar Jihae looked to his father. The dark brown, close to being black, hair, the chocolate brown eyes, Hell even the pout he did. You thought about why you used Yoongi’s surname for Jihae, not being able to think why. Your thoughts were interrupted when Hoseok knocked, leaning against the door frame.

“You ready?”

You nodded, Helping Jihae down before following Hobi. “Where are we going?”

“A little corner cafe where we can all kick back and relax.. Is that fine?”

You nodded. “Perfect~


Once arriving you found all the guys there, Sitting around in the couch area chatting away. You chuckled noticing how they changed a lot after a few years.You pushed the doors open to the cafe and made your way over, Taehyung immediately noticed your arrival and jumped up to tackle you in a hug. “Oh my god you’re back?!”

You laughed and nodded, The other quickly following along and hugging you as well. “Did Hoseok not tell you I was coming?”

Jungkook smiled, shaking his head. “He only told us he had something important to talk to us about..!” You shook my head and looked over to Hobi, he only shrugged while snickering.

A screech was heard from Tae as he noticed Jihae’s presence behind you. “Is that him..?!” He crouched down, smiling while Jihae slowly came from behind you and smiled shyly. “Awe cmon, You were so excited to meet them till now.. Why become shy?” You chuckled as he stood in front of Taehyung.

“I’m Jihae….”

“He looks just like…”  He looked over to me, shutting himself up before holding his hand out to Jihae. “Im Taehyung.”

The other 5 watched, smiling before introducing themselves as well.

The time went with all of you catching up and joking around until it came for the moment you had to leave because both you and Jihae were sleepy. So you said goodbye to all of them and took your leave, As soon as you stepped out you realized the ground was wet, taking note that it had rained so you picked Jihae up and wrapped him in your jacket so he would stay warm.

It wasn’t until you heard a gasp close by that you let the curiosity get to you and turned towards it, only to find out the gasp was because of you.

“Oh my god it actually is you…”

Part of you felt weak noticing the presence of someone who fucked up the entirety of your life, the one who messed it all up and called you disgusting names. You found yourself in front of her not knowing what to do at the moment.

Jennie…?

You knew you should have been pissed at her but you had an agreement with yourself, even then all those feelings that you had towards her were faded and gone. You noticed she was at the point of tears and couldn’t look you in the eye. Had she felt bad..? She was mumbling a lot of nonsense you couldn’t make out. You just stared.

Her eyes trailed down to where Jihae, who was fast asleep on your shoulder. You shifted feet uncomfortably and watched her cautiously.

“I’m so sorry…” She bit down on her lip and you stood in silence for a bit letting it sink in that she had actually felt guilty. You had no clue what to say so you sighed and let whatever came to your mind first.

“You took everything away from me. My boyfriend, My happiness, an much more.” She flinched, choking back a cry. “You gained absolutely jack-shit for doing this.” She staggered a bit from you words only small apologies slipping out.

You stepped towards and looked her in the eye for once. “But that was 5 years ago. I forgave you when I made the choice to let any grudge go and that’s when I sat in a hospital bed with a baby cradled in my arms.”

She seemed to relax a bit at your words.

“It was fucked up, yes, but people learn from their mistakes and even if it’s really bad, some are meant to be forgiven.

She seemed shocked and you smiled a bit.

“Don’t get hung up on the past because of mistakes. I can see you have changed. Look to the future and forget what happened then and look at what is happening now..”

That’s when a man made his way out and over next to Jennie’s side, wrapping his arm around her waist with a confused look upon his face. She hugged him and cried into his chest so you took the chance to turn and walk off, your question about Yoongi being answered.

“Goodbye Jennie.”


The encounter with Jennie left you thinking about it longer then you should have. It had been four days since you were distracted by the sudden encounter that you hadn’t been paying attention and ran right into a stranger, dropping the four bags of groceries across the pavement. The stranger was quick to help you pick the items up, and when you looked up to thank the stranger, your eyes widened, and as if realizing too he staggered back.

(Y/N)

You were, to say in the least, wanting to cry. Sudden Encounter #2 was the one encounter you definitely were not ready for. It made you want to run, and run away far but you managed to keep an act up. You had to stay strong for the sake of yourself and your kid. So you stood up and nodded your head slighly at him.

Yoongi.

And then luck wasn’t so much on your side when you heard the yell of your son, Hoseok close behind him.

Mommy returned uncle Hobi…!

 You looked up to Yoongi watching his reaction as he went pale and looked like he had just seen death. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

You really wanted this to be a dream


THE NEXT PART WILL BE THE END DSKJBHFSJK im sorry if it sucks ;;

⟶ that tuesday night | jjg | (m)

pairing: jeongguk x reader
genre:
fluff, smut
wordcount: 5k
a/n: this is a dumb pwp i have no explanation for except the support of like seven different people that encouraged me to write it. enojy a somewhat college!au jeon.

↳ your best friend finds out how much you love horror, yet you are so goddamn easy to scare. it holds the promise of an entertaining night.


“So, part two tonight?”

He grins at you over the rim of his glass filled with white wine, the usual bunny grin with his nose crinkled and eyes shining that is so incredibly hard to resist. Or maybe, it’s just the wine that you yourself have already running through your system that makes you think that way. You just shrug at him.

“I mean, sure. Why not.” He grins even wider at that, ignoring the faintest trace of hesitation that is laced into your voice. You don’t even get to sigh at his eagerness before he is already turned towards his laptop, opening google to pull up a stream that is high quality enough for his liking.

Keep reading

Jealousy (Richie/Eddie)

Summary: In which Eddie can’t help but feel jealousy creep against his thoughts.

Prompt 97“Are you jealous?”

Prompt: 26“Open your fucking eyes, it’s so obvious that I’m in love with you!”

A/N: Thankyou for this request @wrongsmakethewordscometolife! If you wanna ask me for prompts ask away HERE. If you want to ask an ordinary request ask HERE. THIS IS HORRIBLY RUSHED IM SORRY BUT I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AND I WANT TO POST AS MANY AS POSSIBLE

Eddie sighed in frustration with tired legs, crawling back up from out of the water with the rest of the losers club. He fixed his white briefs and found himself standing up despite his legs practically wobbling from kicking them that much under water; this was because Eddie was in fact too short to stand up properly under the water.

The others sat down, stretching their limbs and talking quietly amongst themselves whilst Beverly set up the boombox and somehow managing to get music echoing from the speakers.

Eddie zoned out, watching as the water swayed lightly in the lake and a grin took place on his lips. He didn’t need his inhaler today, he was fine swimming. Despite countless times of his Mom telling him to always be extra careful in deep water because of how weak he is, he was strong enough to keep his head above water and that’s all that mattered to him.

Eddie turned back around, going to engage in a conversation with one of the others until he noticed it.

Most, if not all of the boys were staring.

Eddie followed their gaze, his jaw slacked which revealed his open mouth as he noticed that all of them were staring at a sun bathing Beverly, relaxed and in her underwear. 

Sure, Beverly was pretty. Very, pretty. But what made her so enticing for all of the boys to stare at her in an alluring way? She didn’t have the best reputation with boys to begin with, which surprised Eddie as he would’ve thought some of them would’ve moved away from the thoughts that were currently going through their minds right now.

Eddie couldn’t help but feel out of place, especially because the only reason he was staring was because he was trying to find out what made he so special? Was it because she was a girl? Was it because she was a girl in her undergarments? Possibly so. 

Eddie’s eyes then shift to his friends, eyeing the way they were all in a trance. As Eddie wandered his gaze over to Richie he couldn’t help but feel his heart strings twist and turn and he helplessly allowed a sigh to release from his nostrils. Anger filled his thoughts. 

What was so special about Beverly? If she was wearing more clothes then he wouldn’t be staring at her like that, surely. She was a stupid girl. Does Richie like stupid girls? Does he like girls in general? 

Just as he stares back at Beverly with distaste roaming his tastebuds, Beverly’s head turns and glances at the boys through her fashionable shades.

All of the boys, including Eddie, look elsewhere and pretend to engage in conversation to disguise their actions. Eddie quickly squirms his steps across the path to where Stanley was sat and switches the song to something else to cover up his own acts.

Beverly merely shrugs, before looking elsewhere.


It was later on that day when the losers were all packing up to go home; Eddie and Richie left earlier than the rest as they both lived on the same road a few houses away from one another.

It was silent, with Eddie still having bad thoughts about Beverly due to an unknown emotion taking over him, almost alike to selfishness. Richie on the other hand was chewing upon gum obnoxiously loud, his mouth open when doing so. He followed up his actions by blowing a large pink bubble, before sucking it back into his mouth. He repeated this a few times until the silence was practically killing him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Eds.”

“Don’t call me fucking Eds.” Eddie grumbled, tightening his fanny pack around his hips to prevent it from slipping down his legs.

Richie was shocked at Eddie’s sudden tone, not to mention that he had been quiet for the majority of the day up until this point. “Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.” Richie mumbled, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger towards Eddie in hope he’d see it as a joke and lighten up.

He didn’t.

Eddie simply rolled his eyes and walked faster. “You’re not funny and I’m not laughing.”

Richie frowned, walking Eddie closer and closer to his house. He was growing impatient with the boys temper growing, but he was determined to find the cause of his lack of happiness and find the core reason as to why he was acting strange.

“Eds, c’mon. Don’t be like this.” Richie bounced against Eddie’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie scoffed, ignoring the taller boys question and grabbing Richie’s arm and shoving it off him. “Go wrap your twig arms around Beverly, I’m sure she’d fucking enjoy that considering all you did today was stare at her.”

Eddie walked quicker now, his tiny feet pacing forth. A lightbulb went off in Richie’s head as well as his lips spreading into a knowing smirk.

Richie cleared his throat, “My my, Eds. Are you jealous?

Eddie stopped in his tracks, heat rising against the skin on his face and spreading to his ears and clothed chest. He turned around with an angered look on his face.

“J-jealous? What the fuck of Richie?”

Richie’s smirk turned into a sly one, walking closer and folding his arms. “You’re jealous of me and Beverly, ain’t ya’?”

Just as Eddie was about to protest, Richie walked up and pressed his finger against Eddie’s lips teasingly, rubbing it around over them to force a funny face upon Eddie.

“Don’t answer that, I don’t want you blushing anymore than you already are.”

Eddie was horrified, he didn’t know that the heat sensation over his skin was him blushing. Why was he blushing? 

“I’m not-” Eddie stuttered, before being shushed by Richie’s finger again.

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring me all day?” Richie tilted his head, his curls flopping to one side.

Eddie averted his eyes elsewhere, feeling the shame creep up behind his shoulder. Silence was the best option for Eddie.

“Hm.” Richie hummed, moving his finger away and standing closer to Eddie. “Can I give you some advice Eds?”

Both of the two boys stood in front of Eddie’s house now, Eddie barely moving head to nod as anxiety took over. The anticipation of not knowing what ‘advice’ Richie was going to give him was killing him; Richie was dragging it out purposely to create suspense.

Richie finally spoke in a soft and gentle voice, “Open your fucking eyes, it’s so obvious that I’m in love with you.

Eddie opened his mouth, only for Richie to once again cut him off. This time, it wasn’t Richie’s finger but in fact Richie’s chapped, gum flavoured lips merging against Eddie’s own smooth pair of lips.

Eddie was quickly filled with anxious thoughts, he thought about how many germs were in a human mouth. For instance, there are actually more germs in a human mouth than a dogs. Eddie hitched for a second, before somehow gaining strength and pushing the thoughts away as he trembled into his first kiss with Richie, the boy he was falling for.

Eddie felt the heat run down his shoulders and smothering his spine, sending tingles as he twitched his fingers against Richie’s cheeks whilst on his tiptoes. Richie confidently wrapped his hands around Eddie’s hips to hold him in place for the kiss. Both of the boys had their eyes closed as they enjoyed their moment in perfect unity.

After what seemed like forever, which forever was 10 seconds in this instance, both pulled away for fresh air. Their eyes opened slowly, Eddie looking up at Richie through his eyelashes and Richie surprisingly having flushed freckles over his dotted skin.

Both boys giggled, stepping away from each other awkwardly.

“So.. so uh- don’t get jealous.” Richie chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i don’t.. I don’t think I’ll need too.” Eddie whispered, clutching his shirt for mental and physical support.

Richie smiled down at the boy, “Well.. goodnight Eds. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Richie quickly rushed off with quick steps and his arms frantically moving in-between his steps. 

Eddie watched from afar, his fingertips touching where Richie had kissed him. The bubblegum taste lingered on his own lips from Richie’s, his tongue licking at his bottom lip ever so slightly to remember how Richie melted perfectly against him with no flaws whatsoever. How Richie made him feel negatively about Eddie by making him jealous. How Richie managed to sweep Eddie up and off his feet in the end. How… Eddie loved Richie too.

“I love you too.” Eddie whispered to Richie, despite Richie being very much so far away and couldn’t possibly hear Eddie’s silent confession.

With that, Eddie turned on his heels and made his way back inside.

Wet Dreams

warnings: handjobs, oral (male receiving), a nsfw gif, unprotected sex

summary: being awaken in the middle of the night by your groaning boyfriend who apparently had been impurely dreaming about you, and you deciding to help him out with his problem

word count: 1,619 

The time was around half-past twelve midnight and you were awaken in very displeasing ways —as your body repeatedly kept tossing and turning under the covers with the hopes of handling the freezing breeze, along with a cat who kept purring as it located itself at the edge of the open window. In the meantime you envied your boyfriend, Tom, was sound asleep alongside of you mumbling out several indistinct words under his snores.

Keep reading

My Beloved is Mine and I am His: 13x02 and Song of Solomon

One of the first things I wrote when I was brand new to the fandom was a short fic with Castiel reading and re-enacting sections from the Song of Songs to Dean. At the time, I thought it was too cheesy and trite to fit within the realm of Supernatural, and I deleted it in a bout of frustration. I am regretting that today like you wouldn’t believe.

I’m a bit of a bible nerd. I took a lot of theology and religion classes in my undergrad. That was nearly a decade ago though, so my current knowledge is a bit shaky. Here’s what I can recall about Song of Solomon that may or may not inform your reading of 13x02 and SPN in general.

A disclaimer: I am sick and drug addled, so please forgive any incoherent rambling. There is a lot of irrelevant gibberish, so I’ve tried to highlight the bits relevant to SPN.

To begin!

Solomon is the heir of King David (whom you may recall had a passionate same-sex relationship with Jonathan.) Solomon’s reign is idealized, much like David’s was, and it was under Solomon that the First Temple was built. Solomon is famous for his wisdom and his large concubine of women. Notably, he settled a dispute between two women who were fighting over a child. He offered to cut it in half, revealing the true mother who could not bring herself to see the child hurt. This bears resemblance to Jack’s situation right now, torn between two fathers.

Song of Solomon (also known as Song of Songs, or the Canticles) is often attributed to Solomon because he is mentioned. However, the text is dated much later, and certain Persian words and influences in the text suggest a post-exilic era as the earliest possible date. Some scholars date it even later.

Song of Solomon is part of the collection in the Hebrew Bible known as The Writings (or the Kethuvim). It’s the third major division in the Hebrew Bible, and one of the last to be adopted into canon. It’s a bit of a catch all category that contains vastly diverse content including poetic works (Psalms, Song of Songs), and wisdom literature (Proverbs, Job, Ecclesiastes), to name a few.

Most of these writings (including Song of Songs) date to the post-exilic era. That is, after the Babylonian conquest, and during Persian rule. The nation of Judah perished in the fires that were set to Solomon’s temple. Post-exile, Judea was experiencing a theological crisis in the face of the apparent absence of Yahweh, or God. David’s dynasty has collapsed, and we see theological despair reflected in writings like Job and Ecclesiastes that ponder the problem of evil, the absence of God, and undeserved suffering. Song of Solomon, and other writings like it, were written at a time when things felt hopeless and there were fears that God has abandoned his people. It is oddly fitting then, that Jack should open to this particular part of the bible. 

The Kethuvim mark a shift in religious thought. Previous writings centred on an independent kingdom involved in international politics. After the fall of the temple, we see an exiled, diasporic religion now led by priests instead of divinely appointed kings. Religious leaders and writers had to adjust and re-envision their scriptural teachings. Gone was the simplistic thesis that equated prosperity with religious obedience and misery with sin. The authors of the books known as The Writings were questioning conventional scripture of the time and creatively refocusing their theology.

Persian rule also introduced new religious ideas, namely Zoroastrianism, which came to influence later Judeo-Christian ideas. Zoroastrianism viewed the world as dualistic, ruled by two opposing powers of good (light) and evil (dark) and had hierarchies of angels and demons. Until this time, most biblical literature did not give name or ranks to angels, nor did they depict satan as an actual autonomous figure. We have Zoroastrianism to thank for that, and its influence on biblical writings can start to be felt around the post-exile period (i.e. the time during which Song of Solomon was written). The book of Daniel, for example, names the angel Gabriel, and the Book of Tobit names the demon Asmodeus. (In Tobit, Asmodeus is a jealous demon who kills each successive husband of Sarah on her wedding night and is later exorcised. He is someone who keeps lovers apart and keeps them from consummating their love.)

Songs of Songs is essentially a collection of erotic love poems. The book defies any easy interpretation or classification, and it stands out in stark contrast to the rest of biblical canon. It’s a completely unabashed, uninhibited celebration of sex, with little evidence to suggest that the lovers are married. They do not live together, and yearn intensely for one another when apart. It’s the subject of numerous feminist readings, as it’s one of few books of the bible to give a voice to women’s thoughts and feelings. Here, those are romantic and erotic feelings.

Don’t believe me? Read this:

My beloved thrust his hand into the opening,
and my inmost being yearned for him.
I arose to open to my beloved,
and my hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with liquid myrrh,
upon the handles of the bolt.
(Song of Solomon 5: 4-5)

This is some raunchy stuff for the bible! And all of this is sharply contrasted with the sexual ethos elsewhere in the bible which imposes harsh penalties for sexual misconduct, and places great emphasis on the institution of marriage. Deuteronomy (a book of the bible about sexual and social control) calls for the death penalty in many cases

There was understandably some debate as to whether this particular bit of writing warranted inclusion in the biblical canon of scripture. Rabbi Akiba was a key figure in the development of the Hebrew canon. While he argued strongly against the inclusion of certain books of the Apocrypha, he advocated for the Song of Songs, calling it the Holy of Holies. Its sanctity was preserved by interpreting it as an allegory for the love between Yahweh and Israel, and later by Christians as the love between Christ and the Church. Interestingly, God is not mentioned once in the entire book. (The only other book of the Bible where God is not mentioned even once is Esther.)

And yet, this book was called the Holiest of Holies. Love is championed here above all else.

I really don’t think we’ve seen the last of Chuck. Someone (I’m sorry, I can’t remember who!) pointed out the rainbow glare that happened in 13x01 when Dean was praying as a sign of God’s promise. (Edit: I’m an idiot. I reblogged the damn thing and it was just a couple posts down. It was @gneisscastiel who made the beautiful post about lens flares and pointed out the rainbow as God’s promise.)  The inclusion of Song of Solomon in 13x02, besides being a blatant callout to Dean and Cas, suggests this is also about God and his people. I’d also like to suggest that Song of Solomon is a book that asks us to think broadly about canon. What constitutes canon? How is it formed? And I do mean canon here in the sense not just of biblical canon, but of fandom canon. Who decides what canon is? Is there room in canon for outliers like the Song of Solomon? The answer, as the show has just demonstrated, should be a resounding yes.

Onto the destiel side of things, which I’m sure has been discussed already. Song of Solomon contains some of the most beautiful poetry in the Bible. It is full of similes and references to nature (and arguably Eden/Paradise). It is deeply rural and pastoral, with an appreciation of agriculture, nature, and animal life. The multiple reference to sheep in 13x02 were no coincidence, I’m sure. Castiel has long been associated with natural, rural things: flowers, bees, goats, fish, etc. (If the Void is depicted as a garden and Cas has been spending his time under apple trees, I’m going to lose my freaking mind.) Is he being associated with sheep now? As someone who has been led by God, other angels, duty, Dean, Jack… perhaps this is time for Cas to choose a direction for himself. Sheep and lambs in the bible are also frequently marked for sacrifice. They represent symbolic innocence, and in the New Testament, Christ is called the “Lamb of God.” I definitely think Cas is being set up as a Christ-like figure with his death and anticipated resurrection. If 13x02 made anything clear, it’s that Cas is the answer the whatever problem faces Dean, Sam, and Jack alike.  

Lamentations might have been a more appropriate choice for the episode. It’s also a book of poetry, but one that evokes pain and loss. But they chose instead to give us the book that celebrates love and hope amidst despair. That’s a choice that feel very deliberate, and makes me cautiously optimistic for Dean and Cas.

 In closing, here are some passages from Song of Solomon, and the ones I feel are most closely tied to a destiel narrative.


“You have ravished my heart with a glance of your eyes.”
(Song of Solomon 4:9)

“Set me a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm…”  
(Song of Solomon 8:6)

“… For love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame.”
(Song of Solomon 8:6)


“I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but found him not.” (Song of Solomon 3:2)

“My beloved is mine and I am his.” 
(Song of Solomon 2:16)

Becoming Human... Almost

Summary: After finding Jack, Sam and Dean bring him to the bunker for you to watch him while they are taking care of business.

Words: 1468

Pairing: Jack x Reader

Originally posted by maplecas

Warnings: None, really. Spoilers for Season 13 at most.


As soon as the Bunker door opened, you looked up. Cleaning and repairing the Bunker while Sam, Dean, and Mary were out to find Castiel and Kelly before Lucifer did. You were sure that “somebody needs to take care of this mess” wasn’t the only reason they wouldn’t let you come along with them.

Dean was the first one to come into view. He looked exhausted, sad. The next person was someone you didn’t know and after him followed Sam. No Mary or Cas.

“Who’s that?” you asked, making all three men look at you, the stranger furrowed his brows.

“Y/N… oh, uh… this is… this is Jack. Lucifer’s son,” Sam explained, trying a smile but you only quirked a brow.

“Lucifer is not my father,” Jack had said, earning a sigh from Dean.

“You’re trying to tell me this grown ass man is Lucifer’s child? Shouldn’t he be a baby?” you only quirked your brow even more.

Keep reading